


Wanton Wedding

by Kiertorata



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Humor, M/M, Smut, Weddings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-02
Updated: 2018-06-02
Packaged: 2019-05-17 06:03:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14826732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kiertorata/pseuds/Kiertorata
Summary: A dull night at a wedding takes an interesting turn for Harry when he finds himself suddenly turned on by Cormac McLaggen.





	Wanton Wedding

**Author's Note:**

  * For [leontina (Leontina)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leontina/gifts).



> Inspired by the prompts "bored at a friend's wedding", "Harry being pinned to surfaces during kissing", and "cockiness".

Harry’s dress robes felt itchy in the July heat. He didn’t like weddings; the fact that it was the wedding of his best friend hardly made it better. He was fed up with making small talk with the fifty or so redheads he didn’t know.

As best man, he had of course been responsible for giving an (embarrassing) speech, which had been one of the most mortifying experiences of his life. (Thank Merlin a variation of Oliver’s good old Quidditch pep talk had saved him.) And it wasn’t enough that all the Weasley children including _Percy_ had asked him to dance (probably to get a laugh out of his two left feet), but he had spent almost half an hour being badgered by Molly about the lack of a significant other in his life.

All he wanted to do was to sit beside the punch bowl, stuff himself on cheese and crackers and hide for the rest of the night.

He was doing a fine job of this until someone sat on the chair beside him. Older and dressed in dark red dress robes, it took Harry a moment to recognize him.

“Hello,” the man said, nodding at him. Cormac McLaggen, former Gryffindor and possibly the vainest man on earth after Draco Malfoy sat right next to him and poured himself a glass of punch. Harry gave a barely audible groan. He had forgotten that Ron had invited him.

“You’re looking good,” Cormac said, looking him up and down. He still had the wiry hair and manly jaw, and his dress robes looked expensive. “Haven’t seen you for a while. Quit being an Auror, I heard?”

“Yeah,” Harry said. “Too much hassle.”

“I considered becoming an Auror myself, but you know how it is. When you know people like the Minister and he spends years persuading you to become Junior Head of Magical Transportation, before you know it you have a career and you haven’t even had a chance to have a proper thought about it.”

He chuckled in a familiar way, giving Harry a look that seemed to demand a reply. Harry didn’t know, but he nodded in what he thought could possibly pass as a polite way and took another comforting sip of his punch.

“I don’t know anyone at this bloody wedding,” Cormac said, setting down his punch glass. “I wonder why Ronald invited me.”

“Er,” Harry said. It was obvious to him that Cormac’s invitation had had very little to do with him working in the same department as Ron at the Ministry. Harry had an inkling it had more to do with sixth year, an unresolved grudge, and how dazzling Hermione looked in her wedding dress tonight, but he decided not to mention any of that.

“The punch isn’t too bad,” Cormac said, lifting his glass to eye-level for inspection. “Did you know, I’m something of a brewer myself? I was recently complimented on the punch I made for the Minister’s wife’s charity ball. I came up with the recipe myself with some tips from Professor Slughorn. You do keep in contact with him, don’t you?”

“No, can’t say I do,” Harry said.

“Funny chap, always had the nicest thing to say about everyone. Said I was one of the most charming and talented students to pass his quarters.”

He droned on about Slughorn, his connections at the Ministry and various other things, every now and then glancing at Harry. With a lack of anything better to do, Harry half-heartedly listened to him, wondering briefly how it was possible for anyone to be so unapologetically full of themselves. Occasionally, his eyes trailed from his punch glass to the dance floor, where couples where twirling in an increasingly heated manner.

“But I’ve heard a lot of compliments on my appearance, so I suppose there must be something to it,” Cormac finished and looked at him in a meaningful way.

Harry’s attention roused slightly, and a new thought passed his mind. Maybe McLaggen wasn’t bragging because he wanted to annoy Harry. Maybe he was bragging because he wanted to make an _impression_ on him.

He felt himself go strangely hot.

As if to confirm his thoughts, a muscular thigh pressed against his under the table, and it was soon followed by a hand that casually rested on his knee. McLaggen’s words became a buzz to him, and he found himself staring at the man’s lips, suddenly both nervous.

“Sorry. You said?” Harry said, realizing McLaggen had just asked him a question.

“Do you want to go somewhere?” Cormac said. “You look a bit uncomfortable in those robes, and I know I could do with a bit of a break from all the wedding guests.”

He grinned at Harry in a devilish way that Harry once would have found repulsive, but which now went straight to his groin. Harry didn’t know if it was the punch or the sheer boredom of being at a wedding without a date, but his body seemed to decide for him.

“There’s a broom shed on the other side of the house,” he heard himself croak. _What the fuck, Harry?_

“Well, shall we?” Cormac said, lifting his muscular body off the chair.

“I’ll follow you after a minute or two,” Harry said. Apparently, he still had an _ounce_ of sense left. Enough to remember that there might be reporters at the wedding. Cormac nodded, and Harry watched as he disappeared behind the house.

“Great, Harry, you’re taking care of McLaggen. I was worried he might start to annoy the rest of the guests,” Ron said.

He had appeared beside the punch bowl and was busy filling two glasses with punch. His cheeks were flushed from the dancing, and he looked nice if a little out of place in his dark blue dress robes.

Harry wasn’t sure if he was “taking care of McLaggen” so much as “I don’t know what the fuck is going on here but I think McLaggen may have just made a pass at me and I may have said yes”, but he nodded anyway.

“Everything good?” he said.

“Yeah. Got to get back on the dancefloor,” Ron said. He winked at Harry and raised the two punch glasses as a goodbye. “My lady needs me.”

When he had left, Harry gulped down the remainders of his glass of punch, smoothed his robes and got up.

“Bathroom,” he muttered as an excuse to no-one in particular. He looked behind himself once, and hurried to the backyard of the Burrow.

When he opened the shed door, he was instantly pulled into a hot, demanding kiss.

Harry’s leg collided with some broomsticks that went clattering around the floor, but he couldn’t concentrate on that when one of Cormac’s hands was gripping his arse and the other had a firm hold on his wrists.

He felt a hard bulge press against his crotch, and when Cormac pressed his mouth to Harry’s neck, to his embarrassment, Harry heard himself whimper.

This was probably the best use McLaggen’s mouth had ever been to, he thought dimly before he didn’t think at all.

The scent of Cormac’s sweat and cologne mingled with the dusty smell of the shed in an oddly arousing way. Cormac’s hands on him became more aggressive and Harry surrendered to the hot insistence of his motions, shamelessly bucking his hips against Cormac’s leg.

He tried to fumble with the front of Cormac’s dress robes, but the man pinned him back to the wall, taking hold of both his wrists and holding them against the wall.

“You do as I say,” Cormac said, voice husky. Harry nodded weakly. “Now take off your robes.”

Normally, Harry wouldn’t have given up control so easily, but nothing about tonight was normal. In the dizzying absurdity of what was occuring, he found himself compelled by the McLaggen’s words.

Cormac let go of Harry for long enough for him to undress, but as soon as Harry’s trousers and boxers had hit the floor, his hands were back on him. One held his wrists above his head – the rough wood of the wall dug into his skin – and the other curled around his cock.

*

When they emerged out of the shed, many of the guests had left. Cormac expressed a hasty goodbye before he Apparated, and Harry wandered across the lawn back to the tent where some of the younger or more inebriated guests were still dancing. He observed a drunk Seamus passed out in the corner and saw Ginny twirl a laughing Luna around in her fluttering, yellow dress.

He scratched his neck absently as he sat back down at his station near the punch bowl. An off-handed glamour charm had taken care of the several love bites decorating his neck. The level of punch in the bowl had significantly dropped since his last drink, but he scooped the remainders into an empty (possibly) clean glass.

He sipped his drink in relative graveness. After a moment, he was joined by Ron, whom he was happy to see was still reasonably sober at this time of night.

“Where have you been?” Ron said, looking at him strangely. “Never mind that. Did you know Ginny and Luna hit it up? Apparently, they’ve had feelings for each other for a while, but it took the romantic wedding atmosphere for them to actually do something about it.”

“Oh,” Harry said, frowning slightly. “Good for them.”

“Well, I have to say I’m glad. Never liked it when Ginny dated men. Er, sorry, no offence,” Ron said and sent an apologetic grimace Harry’s way.

“None taken,” Harry said.

“Isn’t it like tradition or something, bridesmaids and the best man all getting laid on the wedding night?”

“Something like that,” Harry said, deciding this was not a moment to look his best mate in the eye. He took a very deliberate sip of his drink and kept his eyes pinned on the dancing couples.

“Too bad you didn’t get lucky tonight,” Ron said.

“Yeah,” Harry said. “Too bad.”


End file.
